A Weasley Girl
by WindowChild
Summary: Hermione worries that Mrs. Weasley doesn't like her as much as Harry, and it's left to Mr. Weasley to show her that this isn't true.


Hermione sniffed, doing her best to fight back tears. She wasn't sure why she was upset, exactly. There wasn't anything to be upset about.

She was caught in her head. That was the problem. Now that everything was calm and easy, there was too much time to think and to analyze. And so, she watched Molly and Harry on the porch, and felt her eyes fill up.

Because it had always been that way, hadn't it? Molly loved Harry like her own son; she'd said it many times. But did she feel that way about Hermione?

Hermione gulped, remembering Mrs. Weasley snapping at her that very morning. About the dishes, or something else trivial. It didn't matter, she knew. She wasn't naïve enough to think that it did. But still, she never once yelled at Harry. Not once, since they were eleven years old. She babied him, telling him _not _to help and _not _to worry. If there hadn't been the comparison there, bright and blunt as the matriarch herself, then maybe Hermione wouldn't have even noticed.

Of course, she couldn't talk to Ron about it. He would either: laugh, gently console her with a lie, or else – get angry. She shuddered to think of the conversation, calmly explaining to her fiancé that she thought perhaps his mother didn't like her very much. He would say it was ridiculous, probably. Really though, it was ridiculous. Mrs. Weasley _did _like Hermione. The only problem was, she liked Harry more.

Hermione sighed, her frantic thoughts causing her cheeks to burn and her hairline to break out in sweat. She was beginning to understand what Ron meant, when he talked about how he had often felt shafted as a kid. It was tough to be in the Weasley brood, where everyone needed attention and there was only so much that two parents could give.

But was she really a Weasley?

Harry asked the question too, she knew. And Fleur must have also, to a degree. Letting her low mood overtake her, she remembered the days just after the Battle.

The Burrow had been a wreck. Silent, full of an unsmiling, unhopeful family. They'd lost all faith, it seemed. Hermione had stuck by Ron's side, helping and comforting him in every way she could. She'd helped Ginny too, and done the housework and cooking when Mrs. Weasley couldn't. She and Harry had, with the occasional assistance of Fleur or another relative.

As they slowly emerged from their grief-stricken reality, Mrs. Weasley had given Harry an emotional hug and a talk. Just Harry. Hermione had caught the tail end of it, from the stairs. Mrs. Weasley had held him tightly, saying what a big help he'd been, and how they couldn't have gotten through without him.

And Hermione hadn't wanted to care. She put a smile on her face, ignoring the whole thing. After all, wasn't it arrogant and plainly horrible to want thanks from someone? She felt like an awful person for even thinking about it. But still, the seed was planted. She began to recall memories from fourth year, when Mrs. Weasley believed that article by Rita Skeeter. Did she really think that little of the muggle born girl, who was now engaged to her youngest son?

Then there was that. The engagements. She and Ron, Harry and Ginny. They'd become engaged within the same fortnight, but had sworn vehemently against a double wedding. The ceremonies were going to be held six months apart, instead.

With weddings, came the dilemma of the cost. Harry was paying for his and Ginny's; he'd said so at the first beat. Mrs. Weasley had cried, hugged him again, and told him he couldn't possibly do that. He'd insisted though, and now he and Ginny were going to have the most beautiful wedding imaginable.

Whereas, Hermione's parents were dentists. They were paying for the wedding anyway, seeing as she was bride, but it was certainly not going to be big. Hermione didn't care about this in the slightest. All that mattered to her, really, was that it would end with the two of the married and ready to begin their complete lives together. But she got a feeling, by the way Mrs. Weasley wept over the fine china that was too girly for Ginny and yet so beautiful, that _she_ did care. While Hermione knew that she wouldn't blame her in a million years, it still left an unsettling squirm of guilt in the pit of her stomach.

She felt a warm tear tremble down her cheek, and brushed it away with a fingertip. The truth was, she and Ron were alike in many ways. She never felt like she belonged either, whether it was in the Burrow or in her own life.

"Hermione?"

She looked up, startled. "Oh, hello Mr. Weasley."

He was smiling slightly, his eyes crinkled in concern. "Are you alright?"

She sighed, figuring the best she could do was lie. "I'm fine," she replied,.

"Mind if I sit with you?" he asked, gesturing to the sofa.

She scooted over to make room for him, smiling. "Not at all." Still though, her eyes stayed glued to the window. Mrs. Weasley had her arm around Harry, she was speaking passionately to him about something…

"Worried about Harry?" Mr. Weasley asked, incorrectly assuming her expression.

"What? Oh, no. Just…" She shook her head. "It doesn't matter."

"Hermione," he said, "Come now, I did raise seven children. What's on your mind?"

Her chin wobbled in its place, at the mere idea of telling him. "Nothing," she murmured, her voice tiny.

"Hermione?" He looked concerned now. "What's wrong? Did my son do something stupid?" he asked, a wry smile on his lips.

"No," Hermione said, wiping her eyes. "Ron's wonderful. He's out getting a tux, now."

"Ah," Mr. Weasley said, "Then, just feeling sad?" That was the sort of phrased they'd developed, when referring to the Battle.

"No, no," she said quickly, creasing a bit of blank parchment in her lap. "It's silly, really. And I couldn't possibly tell anyone."

Mr. Weasley removed his glasses, looking at her with a sharp eye. "Well, as long as they're not, ah, women's problems, I'd be happy to hear them."

Hermione blushed at the first part, and the shook her head as rapidly as she could. "I'll sound horrible. I _am _horrible, for even thinking about it." Her vision blurred, and she bit her lip, fearing that her words were the honest truth.

"Hermione," Mr. Weasley said, putting a hand on her shoulder. "You could never be horrible, I promise you. Please, just tell me what it is?"

Tears continued to blur her vision, as Hermione prepared to relay her fear. She wasn't sure why she was telling him, although she suspected that it was only her desire to have _someone_ deny that it was true.

"I don't believe Mrs. Weasley likes me very much," Hermione said, speaking directly into her knuckles.

There was a moment of silence, as Mr. Weasley seemed to register what she'd said. He drew back then, looking deeply disturbed. "Oh Hermione… how could you think that?"

"Well," Hermione said, inhaling and brushing her bushy hair back, "Not so much that she doesn't like me… as that she likes Harry more than me." She glanced down at the carpet, her tears neither falling nor going away. She found she couldn't see at all.

"Hermione," Mr. Weasley said, sharply. She gave a little gasp, fearful that he was angry with her. "Parents don't pick favorites of their children, Hermione, and that's what you two are to us."

"But that's just it," Hermione said, clutching her parchment so tightly that it crumpled. "I'm worried that – that she doesn't think of me that way." She gave a little hiccup, finally forcing herself to meet Mr. Weasley's eyes.

Mr. Weasley sighed. "I didn't think I was going to have to tell you this, Hermione, but I suppose you've got to hear it."

"Hear what?" she sounded panicked.

He smiled, patting her back in affection. "This little story. All right, so you know that Ginny and Ron are our youngest, of course." Hermione nodded along, bracing herself for some kind of disappointment. She shouldn't have underestimated Mr. Weasley's fatherly abilities. "Now, I don't know if you know this, or even if Ron does, but Mrs. Weasley has always babied Ron a bit."

"She has?"

Mr. Weasley nodded. "He was too caught up with his adolescence to notice, but she has. And, as you may have noticed," his eyes twinkled, "Ginny is my little girl. She's the girl we never thought we'd have, in fact. So Hermione, Mrs. Weasley only gets a little protective, when it comes to her youngest son. But she loves you very much. And I love you too."

Hermione smiled, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Thank you," she breathed, her new tears ones of joy. It didn't even matter if what he said was true. The fact that he had bothered to comfort her at all, spoke wonders. He cared, and he'd somewhat convinced her that Molly did too.

"How could you even doubt it, Hermione?" Mr. Weasley said, still holding her in his embrace. "You are a Weasley girl, at this point. I don't see how you couldn't be."

Hermione smiled, beaming past his shoulder and into the room. "Thank you," she repeated. "I'm proud to be one."

A/N: Please review!


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